Just south of Piermont, directly across the Hudson River from Irvington, lies the charming village of Sparkill and, at its hub, the Union Arts Center. Set in a former house dating from 1876, the center is a true Hudson Valley gem, its second-floor event space playing host to art installations, classical recitals, jazz supper-club evenings and dance performances.
My particular interest, however, and the reason I took the drive across the Gov. Mario M. Cuomo Bridge and south along the rather lovely Route 9W, was for a performance of the culinary arts.
Chef Kevin Reilly and his partner Maria Santini were already running their restaurant Roost around the corner in the village, when Reilly convinced the arts center’s proprietor, Simon Basner, that the center’s first floor would make a great new setting for the restaurant. How right he was.
Roost, now well-established at the Union Arts Center, is a beautiful restaurant with comfortable chairs, large tables and good art on the walls. Santini, who looks after the design, is passionate about atmospheric lighting and good acoustics, which are evident as you enter. You are also immediately struck by that wonderful hum of people enjoying themselves, a hum that needs no background music to enhance the mood.
A cocktail list was already on my table, with a “Fizzy Rickey” calling out to me. I’m smitten whenever I see a Rickey on a drinks list. (The cocktail was created by a Massachusetts bartender in the late 19th century and named for the Democratic lobbyist Col. Joe Rickey – one of those nuggets of useless information that I acquired in early adulthood and have never forgotten.) Roost’s Rickey – Plymouth gin, cherry syrup and lime, topped up with cava – came, not surprisingly, in a Champagne flute and was a little sweet for my taste, but hey, I was given fair warning about the cherry syrup, so I had only myself to blame.
The oak bar – decorated in clubby, black-and-white candy stripes with graciously arched mirrors – sweeps the back wall of the restaurant, defining a gracious curve. I could have settled in there for the night and called myself a happy man.
Like an actor delivering lines of Shakespeare, my server, Graham, recited the specials with great feeling. They included a veal chop in a demi-glace with baby potatoes and a 40-ounce porterhouse steak, which, as a single diner, Graham correctly surmised I would not be opting for. What I enjoyed instead was a series of dishes suggested by chef Reilly – an industry veteran whose long resumé includes time on the Queen Elizabeth 2 (QE2), at Union Square Café, China Grill, Tavern on the Green and heading up the kitchen at Manhattan’s Water Club – and in whose hands I now gladly put myself.
Dishes came fast and furious. From a broadly Mediterranean menu, with occasional excursions to the American South, the Middle East and China, came a just-out-of-the-pan crisp falafel in a buttermilk tahini dressing, the dish enlivened with baby cucumbers, radish, endive, sweet peppers, frisée, chili oil and an inspired wisp of mint.
Hard on its heels was a steaming bowl of smoked salmon chowder, its texture like velvet, although that is an absurd thing to say because you couldn’t countenance actually eating velvet. But the smoothness of velvet does convey the luxurious, lustrous quality of that soup, in which the smoked salmon and some nubs of bacon made especially good bedfellows.
In the next course, a massive wedge of brioche toast with a sensational crust was the receptacle that held melting goat cheese toast and truffle butter – a kind of fondue that in turn co-starred with a cohort of rich, sautéed autumnal mushrooms in an altogether Oscar-worthy performance. What a combination.
And still the dishes arrived. Shrimp with plantain, wonderfully fresh and flavorful shellfish in a beautifully emulsified lemon sauce, redolent of the South: Those plantains could have been grits. And by contrast, lobster spaghetti (the pasta from DPNB Pasta & Provisions in Nyack,) with a touch of chili for heat and a confident smack of garlic, reminded me of a glorious Sichuan lobster and noodles dish I used to eat regularly at a restaurant on Mott Street in Manhattan’s Little Italy back in the day.
“Any room for a main course?” asked Graham and his question was not rhetorical. Restaurant reviewing, to rework the old Bette Davis line, is no place for sissies and I tucked into a gloriously tender lamb triple chop and its sides of broccoli Calabrese, buttermilk mashed potatoes and Panko onion rings with gusto.
The short wine list featured an Albariño and a Riesling, both good choices for the menu’s many raw bar dishes, although I chose to go with a couple of glasses of Pinot Blanc Sylvaner from Alsace instead. Earthy and with quite high acidity, I thoroughly enjoyed them.
I savored a complimentary glass of homemade Limoncello, too and, the following morning, the chocolate ganache and vanilla custard donuts thoughtfully offered to me for takeout when I refused dessert.
Turning down dessert, well that was a bit sissie, I admit. But – while no excuse and with apologies to Bette – the time had come to draw the line. After all, there’s only so much weight the human frame can bear.
For more, visit roostinsparkill.com.
